She was nearly pushed out of the Land
Rover parked just before where the streetlights demarcated the civilised from
the uncivilised. It was a cold London night and she fumbled with her jacket and
her handbag. A hand silhouetted out of the open window of the Rover, handed her
a few queens and the Rover sped away. She looked at those notes in her hand.
They were less than what was agreed, but she didn’t bother to count them. Money
was about to loose its importance to her after the night. Everything would
loose its importance after the night. She had decided. She was going to die.
She was going to kill herself.
Escorts, this is what the civilised
world called creatures likes her. Use-and-throw is how she named her
fraternity, including herself. Sofia is what she named herself after she became
an escort twelve years ago. Jessica is what she was called when she was born to
her pathetic parents thirty-one years ago. The thicker the book of her life
grew, the quicker and easier it became for her to turn the pages around. As if
life has run very very swiftly, she thought and failed to remember when was the
last time when someone called her Jessy. Anyone except her. Jessy, the only
word that kept her related to her pious non-existent self in her world that
only comprised of men and women executing their fantasies and frustrations on
her.
Escorts - prostitutes of the civilised world. She smiled. The world
will have one less escort tonight, she muttered, her low voice mingled with her
smoky breath while she stood there thinking what necessary things people do
before a suicide. She thought of going back to the agency and talking to Betty
for the last time. Naah. She must have passed out by now. She looked at her
watch. It struck eleven. Moreover, she didn’t want to accost Gunner on the last
day of her life. Son of a bitch would send her mother to a threesome if the
agency got paid enough for that, she thought and spat. A few more names sped
across her mind but none compelled enough.
This is going to be a lone death, she thought and started walking.
No suicide notes, no blames, just boredom - pure boredom from her worthless
life and utter hatred for her body that she thought to be a gutter where people
left things they didn’t want, where psychos left cigarette marks because they
found it too exciting to burn a woman’s body simply because she was being paid
to witness their hidden desires. They would make her do things their partners
denied doing, they would slap her, pull her long hairs, strangle her to near
death and then they would love the rush of blood within their private parts. A
gutter her body was, which only had its value in the darkness of the nights. In
the day, the gutter had no company, no friends, no one to laugh with, go out
with, except her reputation that never seemed to leave her, wherever she went.
Just the same apartment, same wardrobe full of nice clothes, the lavish
furniture, thick poetry books, that brand new large LCD television, and the
same loneliness, that’s what defined her entire existence when she was not
serving the pathetic lot of this city. A creature of night she had become,
nights that were followed by mayhem and pains and routine. A lone creature. A
gutter. A social servant.
She stood in the middle of the Westminster Bridge and watched the
London Eye rotating slowly. Thames flowed beneath her feet, it swooshed, and
ripples swallowed each other, spangled by the light falling on it by the
surrounding buildings. Light danced as if it mocked her life. Soon she would
mock everyone. Or was that a welcome dance? Cars roared behind her. There was
no silence there – something that she had wanted in her last moments, something
that had become a part of her. As if death was about to part her from her only
friend in life, silence. She didn’t mind. Just a few moments and she would be
one with Thames. She looked around for the last time, this city that she loved
most. London. And then she thought of Grace Nichols. Like a Beacon, the poem,
she muttered.
In London
every now and then
I get this craving
for my mother’s
food
I leave art
galleries
in search of
plantains
saltfish/sweet
potatoes
I need this link
I need this touch
of home
swinging my bag
like a beacon
against the cold
She drew a deep
breath and like always, wished, for one last time, if she could ever meet Grace
Nichols then she would ask the actual meaning of this poem. For the last time,
she felt sure that the meaning would be same as what she has been thinking from
so many years. Wind blew against her face and she let her loose hair fly. She
somehow managed to light a pine and thought of Williams, William Carlos
Williams. This Is Just To Say. Her favourite. Something always told her that it
was just not an imagist; there was something deep into it. The more she read
it, the more she became sure of her interpretations. The poem had a suspicion,
an audacity, a betrayal. No, it cannot be an imagist; she reinforced for the
last time, took a deep puff and muttered the words she liked most, her own
voice soothing her loneliness momentarily:
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
She sighed,
enough of all this, she thought. It was time. She looked around at the city of
London for one more time. She started to push herself over the rails when she
thought of her comfortable jacket and her handbag full of money. She won’t need
them in death. She bundled the handbag in the Armani fur jacket and put it near
the rails. Like a zombie, she worked towards her death as if she was hypnotised
into it. Just a few moments and she will be free of all her maladies. If
someone had granted her one last wish, then she would have asked to see a
sunrise and a sunset. It had been years since she had seen one and immersed
herself in its magically serene beauty. May be in the next life, she thought.
And it was then that they came from nowhere.
“Jessy, No!!!!” Somewhere behind
her, a boyish voice called her out leaving her amused and afraid and irritated.
She turned back and found that little boy, not more than ten or twelve years,
standing with a bag hanging on his little shoulders.
“Jessy, it’s not the time,” he
pleaded to someone.
She looked
around to find that cute little girl sitting on the pavement, not far away from
her, and panting, a box kept near her. So she was a Jessy too, little Jessy.
“I am tired Ron,” little Jessy
pleaded, her left hand kept over the box as if she held a treasure inside it.
“We don’t have time. Look.” Ron
pointed towards the Big Ben that would strike midnight in just ten more
minutes.
“We’ve been walking all the way from
home. I can’t walk more. I am gonna tell Grampy about this.”
“Don’t tell him that we have walked
all the way to here. He’ll feel bad.” Ron walked up to her and sat near her.
“Its just a few minutes from here. Come on. Or we’ll be late. We’ll take the
underground on our way back home.”
“Do you promise?” Little Jessy gave
Ron an inquisitive look.
Ron nodded.
Little Jessy smiled. They stood up, picked up their stuff and scampered past
Jessy who suddenly realised that she was still alive. She heaved a few breaths
inside her, her last few breaths, made herself ready to jump and just then that
scared shout distracted her.
They were the two kids who had just
gone past her. Just a few feet away from her, they stood, scared, may be
shivering as that drunk Big Issue guy with cactus like beard and a mouth devoid
of most of his tooth stood in front of them.
“What have ya got teeny weeny
kiddies? Ya running away from home?” he slowly moved towards them and they
moved back, little Jessy stood behind Ron, held his arm, the box she held had
fallen down. And she wept; her tears glistened momentarily under the
streetlight.
“Give me the bag ya.”
“No.” Ron somehow managed to speak.
“Its… its… for… our… our Grampy,”
little Jessy sobbed as she spoke, even her sobs felt the fear that ugly monster
caused them.
“Its for Grampy!!! Oh ma lil
children.” He bent down. “I will give it to him. Give it to me.” He held his
hand forward.
Ron nodded in
denial; little Jessy clutched his hand more tightly as they kept taking
cautious steps back.
“Leave the kids alone love,” Jessy
stood behind the kids and said.
Big Issue
frowned, alternated himself on his feet and said, “Ya go away ya.” He hushed
his hand. “Go away.” His dirty golf cap nearly tipped down as he spoke.
Jessy smiled, moved towards him in
slow seductive steps, put her palm on his stomach and said, “You sure I should
go away love?”
Big Issue smiled
for a moment and then his smile ran away. He looked down at his stomach. A
swiss knife that Jessy held in her hand was poking his stomach covered under
his stinking shirt.
“Leave the kids alone,” Jessy said
as she poked the knife into him.
Big issue
stepped back, stared at Jessy and turned and kept limping away until his
silhouette became one with the darkness. Only his voice echoed. Fuck ya
bitch.
Jessy sighed. She could hear her
heart pounding. What if he had a knife or a gun or if he was not that drunk as
he looked? She put the swiss knife back and thanked God. Every time she got to
use it and save herself on those lonely late night returns, she did the same.
Jessy turned towards the kids. Fear
danced in their little eyes. Little Jessy started to sob as she saw Jessy
coming towards them. Ron stepped back, his mouth open in anticipation of what a
woman with a knife can bring to him and his sister.
“Don’t be afraid children, its ok.
He’s gone.” Jessy took cautious steps sensing their fear. She didn’t want them
to run away from her. Ron and little Jessy stepped back, said nothing. Little
Jessy’s sobs increased.
Jessy sat on her knees, kept down
her handbag, and said, “It’s all right children. I won’t hurt you.” She held
her hand in their direction. “Come here. Don’t be afraid.” She took little
Jessy’s box that laid an arm’s length from her. “Come here. It’s all right,”
she said in a soothing voice, nearly murmured.
They stopped stepping back and then
Ron took a hesitant step towards Jessy, little Jessy came along him clasping
his arm. Jessy handed them the box, which Ron took in a flash. Still afraid.
“Its ok children. Its ok. Come here.
I won’t hurt you.” Jessy cautiously took Ron’s shivering hand in hers and
brought him closer, wiped his tears and cajoled them. Then she wiped little
Jessy’s and as soon as she was done, little Jessy wept, her fears flowing out
of her heart through her eyes. Jessy wiped them, embraced her, and cajoled
them.
“What are you kids doing out t this
time of night?”
“It’s our Grampy’s birthday,” little
Jessy said amongst her sobs.
“Grampy?”
“Our grandfather,” Ron said. “He
lives down the stairs at the end of the bridge.” Ron pointed out to the far end
of the bridge. A motorbike flew past them, it’s loud engine tearing the little
veneer of silence that was present. Little Jessy still sobbed.
“There? No one lives down the
bridge. Are you aure?”
Ron and little
Jessy nodded.
“Can you please come along with us
over there?” little Jessy asked.
Jessy wanted to
say no. She ended up saying yes. Death has to wait. Shouldn’t be long, she
thought. She didn’t know what was coming.
Each step down
the dark staircase besides the Westminster Bridge made Jessy more sceptical.
But that lasted only until she saw a little campfire burning over the pavement
a few metres away from where they stood in the dark.
“That’s my Grampy,” little Jessy
said excitedly, nearly jumping and pointed to the four old men sitting around
the fire. The men seemed to be chatting, one warming his palms over the burning
pile of cardboards, the other had a glass in his hands.
“Jessy!!! Shutup.” Ron gestured with
a finger over his lips. Little Jessy gave him a despondent look. She couldn’t
wait for the surprise to be made. From the school bag he held on his shoulder,
Ron took out a half finished bottle of something that looked like Vodka to
Jessy. He held the bottle tightly in his hands, looked at little Jessy, his
eyes smiled more than his face and they ran towards the men. “GRAMPY!!!” They
shouted.
Jessy stood there watching the two
children scamper over the pavement and nearly jump over one of those men who,
out of all four, seemed to be the most decently, but not neatly dressed. He was
not wearing too much of warm clothes except that brown coat and he didn’t seem
to be troubled by cold. From the distance, Jessy watched his expression change
from an unknown sadness to utter happiness as if he had found Solomon’s
treasure or the fountain of youth. He embraced the two children, kissed them in
turns again and again. Then little Jessy said something to him, he stopped
kissing, looked at her with a big smile on his face and then kissed again. The
other three men stood up, shook hands with him. Happy birthday mate echoed.
Jessy saw all and secretly envied the happiness. All she could not see from
that distance were the tears that trickled down the shaven cheeks of that old
man. Her work was done. She took Ron’s bag kept near her feet. She would return
it and go back. And die.
It was then that she saw the old
man, Ron and little Jessy walking towards her. Jessy handed the bag to Ron.
“Jessy told me that you saved them.
How can I thank you?” Grampy said.
“That’s all right.” She looked at
little Jessy and Ron who, each, held Grampy’s hands. And they were smiling. A
mesmerising smile that looked to her. “I should be going now.”
“No. No. Please join us. Children
want you to come.”
“That’s so kind of you kids but I
really should be going now.”
“Please,” little Jessy peeped from
behind Grampy’s and said.
“Please. Just for a little while.”
Ron held her hand.
Jessy didn’t
speak for a while before saying a hesitant ‘yes’. The vicinity of death makes a
good spirit of the one who awaits it. That is a moment a true honesty, kindness
and God. A moment of life; one of the last moments of life.
They walked up to the campfire and
Grampy told her that she could call her Bob. Bob introduced Jessy to three of
his friends. The tallest one was Rick, the one with the shabby, torn shirt was
Michael and the one with three front teeth missing was Ian, all more or less of
the same age. And three of them gave strange looks to Jessy. She didn’t mind.
That was expected with her skirt exposing most of her legs, the open buttons of
her jacket exposing her low cleavage top. She smiled and got smiles in return.
“I have brought a cake for you,”
little Jessy opened the box and showed it to Bob.
Bob laughed, “My
princess, thank you.” And he kissed little Jessy again.
“Grampy you stink!!!”
All the others
laughed.
“Where did you get this cake from?”
Bob asked.
“From my piggy bank,” little Jessy
was nearly jumping in excitement.
“And mine too,” Ron protested.
“And I have got a candle too,”
little Jessy held a half burnt candle in her hand.
“And I have got this.” Ron held the
half full bottle of Vodka. Bob gave him an inquisitive look. “I took it from
the kitchen.” Everyone was silent except the Thames, which never seemed to be
quiet. Ron looked at everyone. “I will tell dad that I broke the bottle and
threw away the pieces,” Ron said with an innocent face, his hands hung from his
shoulders.
Bob embraced his grandchildren tightly, and wept, like a child and
little Jessy wiped his tears. The cake was cut, the toast was raised in plastic
glasses and Vodka tasted nice and warm in that cold night. And then they sang.
Ron wanted Grampy to sing the same song that he sang on thanksgiving last year.
And Bob sang, I say a little prayer for you. Ron and little Jessy joined
in, then Bob’s three friends joined in and Thames echoed with Forever and
ever I will stay in your heart…And they danced. They held hands in a circle
and danced around the fire. Bob was between Ron and little Jessy who held
Jessy’s hand. They sang, they danced, they moved round the fire and then Jessy
laughed. Laughed out loud, her laughs became one the chorus and the waves
flushed harder. Even Thames seemed to dance and sing it’s own secret song of
life. Jessy sang. Jessy danced. Jessy laughed, a genuine laugh that emanated
deep from her heart and flushed away the vacuum inside her. Nothing like she
had done in so many years.
Forever, and ever, you'll
stay in my heart
and I will love you
Forever, and ever, we never
will part
Oh, how I love you
Together, forever, that's
how it must be
To live without you
Would only mean heartbreak
for me.
They danced
until they fell down. Tired. Exhausted. Wanting more. And so did Jessy who just
kept laughing and laughing until her stomach hurt. She held her stomach and
continued to laugh even as some tears found their way out into her blue eyes.
And the next thing she knew was that morning was knocking. She looked at her
watch. Morning. The horizon glowed of gold. She felt tired and her neck ached.
She looked around. No one was there. No little Jessy, no Ron, no Bob, no Ian,
no Rick and she forgot the name of the third one. No one was there. It was just
her lying down on the cold pavement, her jacket wrapped around her and her
handbag kept besides her. She looked into the handbag and found nothing
missing. Was it a dream? She thought. She looked around. The curved bottle of
Vodka stood a few feet away from her. To her right were kept the warm remains
of the burning cardboard. And she was alone. Except that ray of light that
crawled slowly over the waters and gleamed into her face. She didn’t move for a
moment, as if she was frozen and then she stood up, picked her belongings and
rushed away to the stairs. She kept running until she reached the middle of the
bridge. There it was. The rising sun. It was beautiful. She looked at Thames.
It still made the same turbulent sound but this sound seemed happy, not
threatening. There was something tingling inside her chest. And then she
realised that it was happiness in her heart. A strange, unknown happiness.
Something that she had never felt in so many years. The sun never looked so
magnificent. That was the magic. Sheer magic.
She smiled, looked at Thames for a
moment as if to tell it not to wait for her. She won’t come. Not so soon. Not
by herself. She would never know who those children were, why they were out to
meet their grandfather in the manner she witnessed, where did they go? But she
would go to that place again and again, hoping that one night she might find
them and live that night again.
She held her long heeled sandals in her hand and walked leisurely
barefoot on the cold pavement and muttered Wordsworth:
Earth has not
anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of
soul who could pass by
A sight so touching
in its majesty:
This City now doth
like a garment wear
The beauty of the
morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers,
domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the
fields, and to the sky;
All bright and
glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more
beautifully steep
In his first
splendour valley, rock or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never
felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth
at its own sweet will:
Dear God! the very
houses seem asleep;
And
all that mighty heart is lying still!
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